


This Is Why You Don’t Buy From Shady Real Estate Agencies

by Freezeurbrain



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gay, Ghosts, Haunted Houses, Its kinda like “the others” but not, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Paranormal, The major character death is related to the ghosts don’t worry, basically just a bunch of snapshots about ghostly life, haunted house au, spookiness, very gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-20
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2020-09-19 05:01:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20325511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Freezeurbrain/pseuds/Freezeurbrain
Summary: The house on 465 Tracz Boulevard had long stood empty. And there was a good reason why. This one building had been home to misfortune, to tragedy, to horrors that sent shivers creeping up the spines of most decent people. Ever since it had been built, all of its owners had met a grisly fate.Of course, Michael Mell and Dustin Kropp didn’t know this.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warnings for anti-lgbtq violence, police brutality, and death

The house on 465 Tracz Boulevard had long stood empty. And there was a good reason why. This one building had been home to misfortune, to tragedy, to horrors that sent shivers creeping up the spines of most decent people. Ever since it had been built, all of its owners had met a grisly fate. This house had persisted through the ages, as the town of Middleborough grew around it, surviving countless attempts by development companies to knock it down and build some strip mall or shopping center in its place. 

There were rumors the place was cursed. Why wouldn’t it be? Eight souls had been claimed within these walls, that didn’t happen in a _normal_ house. It seemed the entire town had collectively decided that something sinister was afoot in 465 Tracz Boulevard, and they did their best to avoid conflict with it. Sometimes a group of kids would test their luck, see if the rumors were really true. It had been practically town tradition for a group of friends to sleep over in the house, looking for signs of unusual activity. But the sleepovers had stopped after four boys and two girls fled the house in terror in the middle of the night, yelling unintelligibly about objects that moved themselves and messages that appeared on the mirrors with no one there to write them. Somehow, no one was brave enough to sleep over in the old house anymore after that. 

Even the local government recognized the house’s history, to some extent. For the years it stood empty, the town’s police had to station someone to guard the house on Halloween nights, to deter anyone from trying anything stupid.

Finally, in the year of 2019, the year that marked three centuries since the house had first been built, a small real estate company acquired the property. They’d been able to buy it for almost nothing, selling it for a price that was just a bit higher. 

The town’s citizens had laughed about the move. It was a waste of money, no one was going to buy that place. Sooner or later, the company was going to be forced to cut their losses. 

But the world works in mysterious ways. In October of 2019, the company closed a deal on the house, and everyone in Middleborough was left wondering who on _Earth_ would be foolish enough to buy 465 Tracz Boulevard of all places. 

Elsewhere, in New York State, Michael Mell and Dustin Kropp started packing their bags. They were moving soon, after all.

***

Some say the house’s misfortune started when it was built by the Lohst family in 1719. That is not entirely true. Jacob Lohst was a businessman from England, and he made a fine living for himself selling indigo, a highly desired (and very expensive) thing at the time. With the funds from his business, Jacob was able to build himself a fine home made of bricks and mortar, the house that would one day become 465 Tracz Boulevard, although Jacob Lohst didn’t know this yet. The house became home to Jacob, and when he married, it became home to his wife. Then it became home to their children, and their children’s children. 

The house’s misfortune did not start when it was first built, no. Rather, it started with Brooke Lohst. Brooke was a lovely young girl, with hair the color of gold and pale blue eyes like a pair of diamonds. She was sweet, she was kind, and everyone expected her to have a promising future. 

Which was why it shook the entire town to its core when they learned that Brooke was to be executed by hanging for conspiracy against the British Empire.

Then the truth came to light- Brooke had been using her family’s indigo business to smuggle intelligence to the Rebels, hiding notes in paper-wrapped packages and using secret codes that only she and a few others were able to crack. She had taken every precaution, however, the wrong people had found out. Brooke had been led away in irons by Redcoats. 

When visited in her cell the morning of her execution, however, Brooke did not seem bothered by her upcoming death. In fact, when her mother asked her if she was afraid, Brooke had shaken her head and said, “Mother, I would rather have died fighting for our freedom than live in irons.” 

At noon on Saturday, Brooke had been hanged, her body carted away and buried in an unmarked grave where all the other traitors lay. But the Lohst family swore Brooke’s presence never left the old house, that sometimes they would wake up and see her looking out the window, or comforting them had they roused from a nightmare. But no one believed the Lohsts- after all, there was no possible way for the dead to come back.

*** 

The Lohsts gradually left the old brick house. Maybe the memory of their daughter was too painful, maybe they just moved on in search of the new land recently acquired to the west. Whatever the reason, the Lohsts left, and the Heere family took their place. The Heeres had left Europe in search of this new country, arriving in a New Jersey port around 1840. They had bought the lovely brick house from the Lohst family, and felt quite at home there. They never complained of the same specter the Lohst family insisted on seeing- in fact, they had no idea Brooke even existed. Six years after the Heeres had arrived in New Jersey, Jeremiah “Jeremy” Heere, their one and only child, was born. 

Young Jeremy had grown up listening to his parents voicing their distaste for slavery, seen the cruelty exhibited on these people. The Heeres were no supporters of the Confederacy, so it was no surprise, when the War broke out, that Jeremiah enlisted in the Union Army shortly after his seventeenth birthday in 1863. 

No sooner had Jeremy enlisted than his battalion, the 51st, was shipped off to Pennsylvania. A great battle was brewing, according to his commanders, and the 51st was going to be right in the thick of it. That battle, of course, was the famed Battle of Gettysburg. 

The Union won that battle, as is fairly common knowledge. But they did not do so without casualties. No war is entirely victimless, and with bullets and cannonballs flying across the battlefield, as well as the epidemic of injury and illness making it so that the soldiers weren’t even safe away from the gunfire... well, it wasn’t a huge shock when Jeremy’s name turned up among the dead. But to his family, it was a tragedy. They’d lost their one and only child, and the strain of that loss seemed to bring their entire family unit crashing down. Eleanor Heere left her husband Jason shortly after Jeremy’s death, leaving him alone in a house too big for him. 

For some reason, Jason stayed. And then, as if history were repeating itself, he began telling people about hearing things. Things as in conversations in the middle of the night between a man and a woman in the parlor, directly below his bedroom, though Jason lived alone. Footsteps that echoed in the hallway when there was no one else to make them. Air that became unnaturally cold even in the hottest summer days.

Then, he spoke of seeing things. Seeing doors open on their own that he had not touched. A fork from the kitchen drawer levitating itself off the counter for a split second before it crashed back down again. Curtains rising up when there was no breeze to lift them. And perhaps the most unnerving thing he spoke of seeing was the image of his son. According to Jason, that image had only spoken to him once. “Father,” it had said, “do not fret. I am well, there is a lovely woman here taking care of me. So you need not worry.” 

Unfortunately, most residents dismissed Jason’s tales as the ramblings of a grieving man who had lost his son, just as the Lohst family had been dismissed all those years before. Jason Heere never remarried, and when he died, the house stood empty for many years. 

Until the Valentine family moved in.

***

Margaret and Charles Valentine had been looking for a quiet life in New Jersey, away from the hustle and bustle of growing New York City. So it was rather unfortunate for them the path of life their daughter went down. In the 1930s, Chloe Valentine became a regular name in police stations across New Jersey, particularly after she broke into the bootlegging industry. It was the middle of the Prohibition era, after all, and a time where there were a lot of people who would do anything for a good drink of booze. Chloe’s father had run a drugstore, so she’d picked up a thing or two about running a business. As her influence grew, so did her respect, and pretty soon Chloe had a good handful of speakeasies all across Jersey to her name.

Valentine was known for being feisty, not afraid to shoot down a man who suggested she was less capable of running this speakeasy network than a woman. Her temper proved to be her downfall, as was the case when one of the underlings snapped at Chloe that she had it easy, that she was just sitting there controlling it all while the underlings put their life on the line, sneaking out in the dead of night to collect alcohol from underground providers. Chloe, eager to put this man in his place, snapped right back that she personally would be going with them that night for the deal, overseeing it herself. 

That one decision in the heat of the moment proved to be Valentine’s undoing. The underling who had snapped at her never forgot that night, as he stood right next to Chloe Valentine, wearing a black pantsuit, as she preferred over skirts and dresses that other women of the era wore. The air was cold, and the providers hadn’t shown yet. Valentine tapped her foot impatiently, a look of displeasure spreading across her face. 

A single crack, like thunder, echoed through the warehouse, and Valentine only had time to utter “Son of a...” before more rang out. The deal had been a trap, and now the warehouse was surrounded by police, bullets whizzing through the air like insects, deadly insects. The underling, who survived the confrontation, said that Valentine had fought “like the Devil was after her”, shooting at police through the windows and ducking behind boxes for cover, remaining cool even as bullets flew through the air. But in the end, it hadn’t been enough. Chloe Valentine had died in that warehouse, with a gunshot wound right in her heart. 

Just like Brooke and Jeremy before her, the Valentines swore that they heard stuff. It always happened right after the death, that was when the spirits were most active. They reported similar things to what Jason Heere had- conversations occurring in the dead of night while both Valentines were silent, footsteps in the hallway, items levitating off their surfaces. And this time, people began to get nervous. They’d heard of Brooke and Jeremy, but having three families in a row see the same signs? 

That was unnerving. Almost... paranormal.

***

Then came the Canigula family, shortly after the Valentines moved out in 1935. They were immigrants from Vietnam, who left their country in search of a newer, better life in America. They had a daughter, Christine, who had always been a sweet young girl, and she carried that sweetness with her into adulthood. She loved taking care of others, so it was no surprise when World War Two rolled around and Christine signed up to become a nurse on the battlefield. After training, was shipped off to Iwo Jima, a small island in the Pacific which would eventually be known as the site of one of the bloodiest battles of World War Two, although Christine didn’t know that yet. She was just excited to be helping people.

And help people she did. The Battle of Iwo Jima lasted for five long weeks, and during that entire time, Christine tended to the many soldiers wounded during the battle. Not only did she give them medicine and stitch up their wounds, she would talk to them as well, ask them about their lives back home and what they were going to do when they got back. 

It was remarkable to her fellow doctors how one so young remained calm when a soldier was wheeled in covered in blood, sometimes even with a leg or arm missing. Usually, the younger nurses would vomit or even faint at the sight of such carnage. But not Christine. She stayed by the sides of wounded soldiers, and if one soldier she had been assigned to tend to passed away, Christine wept as if she’d known the man her whole life rather than a few days. But she kept going. 

Christine’s kindness proved to carry over to the very end. One day, Christine had been near the entrance to their field hospital, which was little more than a makeshift tent, when she saw a soldier attempting to carry his buddy to the hospital under heavy fire. Christine’s supervisor warned her not to go out, but Christine did anyway. She sprinted out into the battlefield, not caring about the gunfire, just to help the soldier that was wounded get to the hospital in time. And he did. 

But as the nurses were tending to the two men, Sonya Rostova, who was rather close to Christine as their families were both immigrants, noticed that Christine was clutching her side as if she were out of breath. When Sonya got a closer look, however, she was horrified that it was not breathlessness hindering her friend, but a wound from a gunshot. In the process of trying to save those two soldiers, Christine Canigula had been fatally shot by enemy forces. She was one of only sixteen nurses who died due to enemy action over the course of the entire war. 

Sonya remarked that Christine did not seem afraid, even as she lay close to death when the loss of blood began to take its effects on her. “She had given up her life to save two,” Sonya would later say. “I believe that she would be very happy to know that.”

As is probably obvious by now, history repeated itself. The Canigula family reported seeing and hearing the same things the Valentine, Heere, and Lohst families had. And this time, people began to listen. 

This was around when the legends started, when groups of friends started gathering around the house at night yearning to sneak a peek of the elusive ghosts. The Canigula family was rather bothered by these ghost hunters, and voiced their distaste openly. 

“This is our house,” Mai Canigula had said. “And we do not appreciate strangers creeping around it in the dead of night.” 

Some suggested the Canigulas hire an exorcist to remove the ghosts from the premise, but they decided it was not necessary. The ghosts didn’t appear to be violent, in fact, sometimes they were even helpful. Sometimes Mai would go to bed after a long day having forgotten to do the dishes, but when she came downstairs, they were sparkling clean and put away neatly. She asked her husband Hao if he had done the dishes, but Hao said he had been in bed all night and hadn’t moved once. No sense hiring an exorcist when the ghosts weren’t troublesome. And Mai wasn’t one to say no to a little extra help with the housework every now and then. 

***

By the time the Rolan family moved to 465 Tracz Boulevard in 1952, the town of Middleborough seemed to have gotten the legend of the old house, and so they were cautious. It was only a matter of time, they figured, before something grisly happened to the new owners. And it wasn’t long before they were proven right. 

The Rolans’ eldest daughter, Jenna, had always been one to spread words around like a wildfire. She loved reading the news, and would tell her friends about current events on the way to school, even though this somewhat annoyed them a little. But by the time the race riots rolled around, Jenna’s friends had never been more grateful for her habit. She would often tell the class of updates happening around the country, like Rosa Parks and the Montgomery Bus Boycott, or the lunch counter protests occurring where black people would sit at whites-only lunch counters but not order anything, and sit there even as they were told to leave, even as police showed up to drag them away. 

Students like her were making a difference in this world, and Jenna longed to join them. When she heard about a march on February 12th occurring right in her very own town, Jenna knew she had to be there. She asked her parents, said she would stay with her friends the entire time, so they agreed to let her go. She left the morning of February 12th to attend the first march she had ever been to. But she never came home that night.

Her family was frantic. They called police, friends, anyone who would listen, and asked them to look for Jenna. Search parties were sent out, looking all over the town for a seventeen-year old girl named Jenna Rolan, last seen in the march on February 12th. They searched, and the Rolan family waited for two agonizing days until they got the horrific news- Jenna’s body had been found in a back alleyway, covered with bruises. The official autopsy report was that she had died from being beaten to death. 

Jenna’s friends testified, said that they had seen a pair of cops yelling at Jenna. The cops were identified, and through the testimonies of several eyewitnesses, charged with second-degree murder and sentenced to twenty-five years in prison each. Jenna’s death became a rallying point for racial equality in the town of Middleborough, in fact, if one were to visit the town square, they would see a plaque near the Town Hall with her name on it, dedicated in her memory. 

With the media picking up, Jenna’s death, and the history of the house, became apparent to not only the citizens of Middleborough, but to the entire country. A few ambitious ghost hunters from out of town would show up, sneaking around the house, looking for those signs of paranormal activity. The Rolan family grew sick of the media attention, and in 1961, they moved out. 

This time, however, the house stayed empty for only eight years. And the next residents of the house were the ones who made the biggest effect on its legend.

***

In 1969, shortly after the Stonewall riots, three people moved in to 465 Tracz Boulevard- Jake Dillinger, his daughter Malika, and Jake’s partner Richard Goranski. To say that the family was not welcomed warmly would be an understatement. Nobody was keen on these people- they were not only a gay couple, but an interracial gay couple at that. Many of the neighbors reported that the house had been vandalized several times, and there had even been instances of people standing outside the house, yelling slurs. But no one could have predicted what happened on the morning of June 15th, only a few weeks before Malika turned eight.

The mailman had arrived in the morning to drop off the family’s mail. He’d had to go up onto the porch, because their mailbox had recently been knocked over by some delinquents, and he had noticed something that made him very uneasy. 

“The door was unlocked,” he said, “and with how folks were treating them, Rich and Jake knew better than to leave their door open like that. I knew something was wrong.” 

He opened the door, noticing that the inside of the house was very dark. According to his testimony, the mailman called for the family several times, asking for affirmations that things were all right. When he got no answer, it further cemented his theory that something had gone horribly wrong.

He ventured into the house, calling out once more. As he approached the living room, he remarked that the air “became thick with a coppery, sharp scent.” When he entered the darkened living room and turned on the light, what he saw nearly made him sick. He saw the bodies of all three members of the family, stabbed to death. From the looks of it, Jake had been stabbed in the stomach, Rich in the heart, and young Malika in her back. 

The mailman screamed, alerting the neighbors, who ventured into the house and had a similar reaction when they saw the bodies. The police were called, but not much good was done. The police department wasn’t very eager to look into the case, even going so far as to rule the deaths a “tragic accident”. It didn’t fool anyone, though- they all knew it was a homicide. However, the crime scene had been contaminated- and a few pieces of key evidence had been “lost”, making it nearly impossible for the crime to ever be truly solved. 

After that, the house stood empty. No one dared to go close to it, except for the ghost hunters, which had grown even more rampant in recent years. It seemed that everybody in Middleborogh now knew the legend of 465 Tracz Boulevard, and the stories spread like wildfire. Some claimed there was a curse on the house, others said the ghosts of previous owners kept killing the current residents. One particularly outrageous theory claimed that it wasn’t ghosts, but rather demons that assumed the form of the house’s old owners. For whatever reason, no one was willing to buy the old house. There were even talks of knocking it down.

But then Dustin Kropp and Michael Mell bought it. And even the paranormal skeptics in town seemed to be keeping one eye on the house, waiting to see if its new owners would meet the same ghastly fate. 

And on October 24th, a week before Halloween, Dustin and Michael stepped into their new home for the first time.


	2. Chapter 2

It had been a while since the house had gotten a new owner. It was somewhat hard to keep proper track of time when everyone had been dead for varying amounts of time, but according to Rich and Jake- who were technically the “youngest” ghosts, as they’d died last -the house had been uninhabited since 1969; a little factoid that got a whistle and a “_goddamn_” out of Chloe, who was then promptly disciplined by Rich for swearing in front of Malika. Only Rich would have the guts to tell a hardened criminal off for swearing like that.

The adults had about given up on the prospect of anyone new ever moving into the house. After all, 465 Tracz Boulevard had become somewhat of an urban legend around the town of Middleborough. No one in their right mind would stay there for a night, let alone willingly choose to live there. Not that it really mattered- no people meant they didn’t have to hide from anyone. Aside from the fact that they were ghosts, they could pretty much live normal lives when there was no one living in the house. But it was lonely. Their spirits were tied to the house, so they couldn’t leave. Ever. If one of them so much as tried to set foot out the front door, they would get thrust backwards as if someone had sucker-punched them in the face. The house was as much a part of them now as they were of it.

Malika was the one who took that the hardest. She hated not having other kids around to play with. The closest person in age to her was Jenna, and Jenna was sixteen. This desperation for new friends meant that, when younger people _did_ come into the house, Malika tended to throw caution to the wind and try to greet them. All that eventually caught up to them, that fateful day almost five years ago when those six kids had slept overnight in the house, looking to catch a glimpse of the elusive ghosts. Malika had gotten a tad overexcited, and by the end of the night, the kids had fled the house in terror and Malika had gotten a very stern lecture about subtlety. 

But the damage was done. After that, people avoided the house like the plague was inside it, and they hadn’t gotten any visitors ever since.

Until now.

“Hey!” Brooke’s voice echoed through the old house one fall morning. “Does anybody know what ‘U-Haul’ means?”

Yeah, none of them were really “up with the times”. Being unable to leave your house meant you weren’t really able to catch up on what was going on with the world. According to their most recent news, which was from 1969, Richard Nixon was still the president of the United States.

“Huh?” Jenna walked through the wall and into living room, an action that got her a stern glance from Christine. 

“Jenna!” Christine admonished, “Don’t walk through walls.”

“Opening the door is too hard!” Jenna said defensively. 

Christine sighed. “Then walk through the _door_ like the rest of us. Respect the conventions, at least.”

“What are we yelling about?” Jake walked through the door- literally, _through_ the closed door.

“Christine’s yelling at me.” Jenna said accusingly.

“I just want to keep some semblance of normalcy.” Christine said. “Besides, walking through walls is not the impression we want to give.”

“There’s no one around to give an impression to!” Jenna protested.

“Excuse me?” Brooke gave a small wave from her spot at the living room window. “I’m afraid no one has answered my question yet.”

“What is it?” Jake asked. 

“What does ‘U-Haul’ mean?” 

“Huh?” Jake walked over to the window and peered out. Sure enough, Brooke was staring at a van parked on the road outside the house, a van that had the word “U-Haul” on the side in orange letters. “Oh, it’s a moving company.”

“Moving company?” Brooke’s brow furrowed in confusion.

“Right.” Jake clicked his tongue. “1700s. It’s a company people hire when they’re moving houses. These people called movers help them get all their furniture out of their old house and into their new one.”

“Well, _that_ sounds awfully convenient.” Brooke said. “Why didn’t we have any of this stuff when _I_ was alive?”

“Why is there a U-Haul van outside our house?” Jenna asked, squinting suspiciously out the window.

Jake shrugged. “Maybe someone’s moving in next door.”

“What is all this racket about?” Jeremy entered the room. “It’s...” Jeremy realized that, as none of them had a clock on hand, he didn’t exactly know what time it was. “...very early!” 

“We don’t sleep.” Jenna said flatly. “Not like we woke you up or anything.”

“Well, I, for one, like some peace and quiet in the mornings.”

“Is something happening?” Quicker than any of them could process, Malika dashed into the room, her brown eyes wide with excitement. She was shortly followed by Rich. Malika looked up at Jake expectantly. “What’s going on, Papa?”

“We’re trying to figure that out, sweetie.” Jake said. 

“Might as well get Chloe in here while we’re at it.” Christine said, standing up. She didn’t get very far, though, as Chloe herself strolled into the living room like it was a casual Sunday morning. 

“Too late. What’s all your jabbering about?”

“We’re trying to figure out the origin of the mysterious vehicle outside.” Brooke said.

“It’s impossible to take you seriously when you talk like that.” Chloe said flatly. 

“Pardon me, but I’m not exactly up to date on the ‘slang’ that you all use.” Brooke made air quotes around the word ‘slang’ as she spoke.

“Why did you put air quotes around the word ‘slang’?” Rich asked. “That’s a real word.”

Jenna groaned. “Oh, Mr. English Major is in the house.”

“That’s not even-“ 

Rich was cut off by Jeremy exclaiming. “Who are those people?”

“What people?” Christine craned her neck trying to see, as the window area had gotten quite crowded. 

“Those people carrying a sofa towards the house.”

“Great.” Jake rolled his eyes. “I’ve gotta explain again. Jeremy, those are movers, they help people move houses-“ Jake cut himself off as he did a double take. “Wait. Why are they taking the couch _here_?” 

“Is someone moving in?” Jenna’s eyes widened.

“Impossible.” Brooke shook her head. “No one in their right mind would move into this place after everything that’s happened.”

Chloe looked like she was about to respond with a characteristic sassy remark, but she was interrupted by the sound of the door opening. 

“Nobody move.” Rich hissed.

To the living- most of the living, that was -the ghosts were invisible to the naked eye, and their voices couldn’t be heard. The only way they could be detected was if someone heard them interacting with the environment or felt their presence. So as long as they stayed perfectly still, these movers shouldn’t be able to see them. Luckily for them, that seemed to be the case as two men hefted a large couch into the room.

“Just our luck, we get the crackpots that want to move into _this_ house.” The first mover grumbled.

“You don’t honestly believe this place is haunted, do you?” The second mover asked. “You’re more gullible than I thought.”

“Who in their right mind would want to live here?” Mover #1 looked around at the living room. “It’s not just the whole ghost thing, it’s just a dump.”

“Hey!” Christine took personal offense to that. She actually tried to keep the house somewhat clean, and just because she didn’t have access to regular cleaning products didn’t mean the house was a _dump_. For her outburst, Christine was promptly shushed by her fellow spirits. 

“I thought they were never gonna sell this place, personally.” Mover #2 said. “The way the locals avoid it, you’d think there really was a curse.”

“Oh, sure.” Mover #1 rolled his eyes. “Eight people die in this very house, all after moving into it, but there’s no curse.”

“Actually, only _three_ people actually died in the house. That guy, his daughter, and his friend or something like that.”

“His _friend_?” Both Rich and Jake seemed appalled by this statement. Once again, they were quickly shushed for their lack of control.

“It doesn’t matter. People still say they see eight ghosts.” Mover #1 said.

“People in my email inbox say they’re rich Nigerian princes who need money. That doesn’t mean they’re telling the truth.” Mover #2 grumbled.

“Those kids that tried to sleep over here five years ago, they seemed pretty darn convinced.”

“For all we know, that was some big old prank to scare people. I say it’s just an urban legend people are exploiting to give our town tourist revenue.”

“If that’s the case, it kinda backfired.” Mover #1 set the couch down on the floor. “No one would touch this house with a ten-foot pole. Wonder if the poor saps who bought it know about it.”

“Maybe they’re just sensible people who don’t believe all the hype about ghost stories.” Mover #2 said. 

“Yeah, yeah.” Mover #1 rolled his eyes. “Let’s just get the rest of this stuff outta the truck and get outta here.” 

The movers walked out of the house, leaving a couch and eight very confused and alarmed ghosts behind. Everyone was silent for a brief moment, before Chloe summed up what everyone was thinking with two words.

“Well, shit.”

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve had this idea for a while now, and I couldn’t resist! Maybe i’ll turn this into a longer story if you guys are interested- what do you think?


End file.
